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“ L i k e i t ? ” Clare asked. She turned slowly, the loose folds of her black
cotton pyjamas fluttering, her face hidden by the conical straw hat.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know. It makes me feel weird.”
“It’s fashion. Fashion’s supposed to make you feel weird.”
I let myself through the sliding glass door, into the back yard. The grass had
grown a foot or more without my noticing, and strange plants had come up
between the flowers, suffocating them in sharp fronds and broad green leaves.
© 1985 by Davis Publications, Inc. First published in Isaac Asimov’s SF Magazine, May, 1985.
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